My youngest step-son Poté dutifully took me to Jim Pattison in the morning, and I took these three photos of the enormous swelling that has developed due to what is being deemed a parotid duct obstruction. It is on the left side of my face:

I was standing outside the Jim Pattison building at around 8:50 a.m., and Poté had left to carry on to work over in Guildford.

I had found myself to have slept quite well overnight ─ oh, certainly, I had lots of wakeful periods, but I was always comfortable lying in bed and knew that sleep would soon return. But I must be oozing water vapour ─ my bedding is thoroughly clammy under the covers, and it is a little unpleasant rising during the night to use the bathroom because that clamminess quickly becomes something chilly to return to.

Oddly, I seem to be using the bathroom about a half-dozen times a night, despite the perspiration. I am undoubtedly battling an infection of note.

I think I was told that my temperature was just slightly elevated, however.

It has occurred to me that I probably committed a blunder Friday after I saw ENT Specialist Dr. Mark Miller. I had been sent to him by Dr. Christian Cheung at the Surrey Memorial when they were still trying to pin down what was behind my facial swelling.

Dr. Miller has an office in a building a short distance from the hospital.

I now believe that after seeing him, when I returned for more treatment at the Surrey Memorial, I was supposed to have passed along Dr. Martin's cellphone number to Dr. Cheung, but I never thought to. I was in fact only to realize over the weekend that I had the number ─ it entirely slipped my mind.

I have a 10:45 a.m. appointment with Dr. Martin on Tuesday ─ I guess I will learn the truth of this then. And he will most likely have the results of the CAT scan done on me late Friday afternoon after I had seen him and gone back to the hospital.

Anyway, with Poté at work, I had the pleasure of hiking the better-than-a-mile home. It was very sunny. When public like that, I pull up a hood to cover my grotesque appearance.

After getting home again, it was not too very long before I sought a nice nap.

This blog is all I am able to squeeze in the time for ─ I have none available for my hosted websites.

After sunset, I had a bit of a bath, and then returned to bed for over an hour, lying upon the swelling for that time in an attempt to possibly force open something. It was rather uncomfortable, to be very honest.

I took these three photos afterwards at 8:20 p.m.:

I cannot say that the swelling was reduced markedly, if at all; but lying on it caused that discoloration beneath my eye.

I had been told to show up at the Surrey Memorial in time enough for the next antibiotic IV drip. Poté was dutifully present to drive me there.

When I went there Saturday evening, no one was in the emergency admittance area. But today, an Asian mother and her 16-year-old son were at the admittance window being dealt with.

From what I overheard, the lad had been nipped on the right side of the face by a dog, and treated at a walk-in clinic. I couldn't even notice any sign of injury.

The clinic had assured them that nothing else needed to be done, but for some reason these two were fixated upon the possibility of rabies. I don't know which of them was unnecessarily scaring the other.

So they were finally waved on in.

From what I know of the rabies treatment, no one wants it unnecessarily ─ I think that it is rather painful. Yet the only way to know if the symptomless dog had rabies would be to kill it and have an autopsy performed on its brain, I believe.

Well, I hope they had a good time, and that someone was able to get the message across. They seemed dense from their fear.

My session was unremarkable. I seem to be building a bit of rapport with much of the staff.

When I was finished, I went to a foyer-like area outside of admittance, and proceeded to text Poté to come for me. The message was in blue rather than green, and refused to send. I tried two more ─ the third actually just telling him to stay home because I was going to walk.

He got none of the blue messages.

He did text me at one point, but I wasn't going to stop and waste my time trying to fruitlessly respond. And I was quickly enough home.

Anyway, I watched some T.V. with my mainly unconscious younger brother Mark, only indulging in one can of strong (8% alcohol) beer to buzz me and complement the Advil I was to take before crawling into bed a little after 11:30 p.m.

Monday is a public holiday here in B.C. For me, it meant yet another morning antibiotic IV drip session coming up at Jim Pattison.

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I close now with a journal entry from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

The small space I called home was being rented in a house located on Ninth Street, and one or two houses up from Third Avenue.

I had in mind for this new day a hike out to the home of my mother Irene Dorosh, who was then living in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey with her husband Alex.

That little house is now gone, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue. It was my main mailing address.

To hike there from my room would take about 1½ hours of fast-paced trekking.

I had gotten to bed the evening before at 8:30 p.m.

THURSDAY February 12, 1976

I got up at 3:00 a.m., but I've been awake quite some time since before 2:30 a.m.; I don't know if it's because I am so extremely unfed, or due to the flushed feeling that seems to accompany the hunger.

I leave for mom's about 5:40 a.m.

Alex tooted at me in the gloom not too far from the Kennedy turn-off as he headed for work.

Before eating, I weighed in at 182. Some while after eating, I was 191. I really fed myself up. I'd quit eating pretty well by 8:30 a.m., but I was still full when I left for home, and am yet.

Cathy phoned mom.

I'd earlier called Bill; he said he might be bingoing tonight with Nell and any other participants.

Greta phoned (as on Tuesday); mom picked up the receiver to make a call before it had a chance to ring, and trying to find out if the line was in use, she was pretty surprised to hear Greta speak in response; anyway, she may move in Monday or so for a couple of days while she tries to get a job if she has to leave her Kurt, who can't accept the shock upon learning she is 14 years or so his elder.

I was going to mention the smorgasbord to Bill for tomorrow, and twice unsuccessfully tried to call him, but decided to let it pass and diet reasonably instead.

My walk home was miserable; not cause my foot gave me a little trouble, but cause I'm fretting over Judd's Saturday wedding and the obligation in consequence I have of seeing Art tomorrow and trying to get out of attending.

I brought home an atlas and my old nautical dictionary of terms.

During my token exercises, about 6:15 p.m. I was certain someone lightly rapped on my window and proceeded to the door; waiting tensely several minutes, I heard nothing more.

Bed is about 8:15 a.m. tonight.

I must have nearly gotten to my destination before Alex left for work. I think that I meant Holt Road when I referred to "the Kennedy turn-off." The Surrey length of 90th Avenue does not quite reach Scott Road, as you may be able to perceive on this Google map.

I would have been walking along Scott Road, coming from the top of the map, and Alex would have left 90th Avenue, turned onto Holt Road, and then pulled out onto Scott Road ─ soon passing me and honking.

My mother's friend Greta may have been living in Barriere, so that next call was somewhat long distance. Poor Greta was certainly nice enough, but she had an eye for men. And I seem to recall that she could not read ─ at least, not English.

My old friend William Alan Gill only lived about four or so blocks from me ─ he rented a bachelor suite in New Westminster. Apparently he had bingo plans with my maternal Aunt Nell Halverson and however many of her 'clan' would also have gone.

The wedding I was uptight about was for Judd (Gerald) Smith, the younger brother of my older friend, Art Smith ─ Art was in his early 40s. Both Art and I knew the union would be a mistake ─ Judd's betrothed was a lecherous lush. However, I was just uncomfortable about being involved in a non-family (of mine) wedding.

So...did someone make a weak attempt to visit me that evening or not? I sure don't know now.